


A Very Avengers Christmas

by KiwisAndTea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Avengers Christmas Bash, Fluff, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Tinsel, Tony Stark Has A Heart, tony stark is a dad, yes it's big enough to be tagged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 21:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17129075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwisAndTea/pseuds/KiwisAndTea
Summary: Winter break means almost an entire week with the Avengers. Cue: Christmas decorations, messing with Tony, heart-to-hearts, and the World's (Second) Best Hug.Oh, and tinsel. Like, a lot of tinsel.





	A Very Avengers Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas to those who celebrate Christmas, and a happy holidays to those who don't! Enjoy some fluff on me, with like 2 seconds of angst, and more Soft Tony than originally planned. I wrote this back in August and having been Waiting so long I kind of forget about it. Whoops.

Winter break means almost an entire week with the Avengers.

Peter cuts his goodbyes to Ned and MJ short the moment he spots the familiar black Audi, and he slips into the backseat with an excitement he hasn't felt since the second time he visited the Compound (he'd been too nervous about the whole plane-crash-Vulture thing the first time, turned down what he thought was a test, and then went home - didn’t even really get to see the place). Now, having visited most weekends for over a year, the facility has lost a lot of its charm and become a second home; he still gets excited about going, of course, but so rarely does Happy find him bouncing in his rearview mirror.

"Did someone give you sugar or something?" the driver asks, and the face he makes caught between apprehension and disgust causes Peter to release a breathy laugh.

"They didn't set up the tree yet, did they? Rhodey promised he'd wait for me," he implores, leaning forward in earnest concern, but not far enough to be over the privacy window, in case Happy decides he's had enough conversation for the day and shuts him out (with love, he knows. Peter's pretty sure he's getting the hug he's been pestering Happy about for two months as a Christmas gift and he can't wait. The man looks like a huge, huggable teddy bear).

"He, Sam, and Steve were pulling all the boxes out of storage when I left, but I don't think they plan on starting without you."

Peter grins. A whole five days with the Avengers before they all part ways for their families and meet back up on the 26th with families in tow for a huge Christmas bash. Scott is bringing Cassie and Hope and Clint is bringing his whole crew and Rhodey is bringing his mom. Peter is bringing May. He's never been so impatient for Christmas to be over, and between those thoughts and all his plans for decorating the Compound, time flies by. One second he's guesstimating the total length of lights they'd need to appropriately Christmas-ify the building, and the next it's coming into view.

Stealing his duffle bag from Happy, Peter hurries up to his room to drop it and his backpack off, and makes his way into the common room. He can hear Clint and Tony arguing, but is too engrossed in texting Ned a detailed explanation of his plan of attack to actually pay attention. He doesn't hear a word of it, but he hears the silence that follows his entrance, and out here without any other ambient noise, it's deafening.

"Hey Pete," Tony greets, as if nothing has happened, "how was school? All your tests go okay?"

Clint is staring at him, and Rhodey's got a box at his feet and a Santa hat on his head and is clearly not getting involved, so Peter tries not to feel like he's done something wrong or interrupted something serious. "Yeah," he answers with a shrug, slipping the phone back into his pocket and taking cautious steps towards the tubs of Christmas decorations. The archer's eyes follow him for a while before disappearing.

"Even the U.S. history one?"

Peter pops off a lid to find a couple dozen ornament boxes Tetris'd into the container and rolls his eyes. "Yes _dad."_ It's said with the sort of joking emphasis better suited to old 90's sitcoms, and he's careful to keep it that way despite how frighteningly casual it feels rolling off his tongue at every opportunity. In his defense, Tony had taken to calling him 'son' with that righteous authority Steve uses sometimes, and Peter'd had to fight back. It just happened to be… an ongoing battle. Which has lost all its bite.

Everyone else gets the blame for that. Saying things like "your dad is looking for you" really just normalizes it, so it's not Peter's fault that he uses the d-word more than the man's name. It's not.

Sam waltzes into the room then. "Alright, Short Stack, let's get this tree up and looking spiffy."

Between them, it takes less than five minutes to set up and then he's back to looking at ornaments while Rhodey buries himself in garlands and Sam grins at two large bags of tinsel like a madman. (He expects it'll be everywhere by tomorrow, and at least two or three Avengers are going to go on a manhunt).

He's just about to start arranging the red and gold (obviously) baubles on the tree when Tony calls out his name with a forced levity that gives him pause. "What do you want for Christmas?" his mentor asks, looking at him over his shoulder with his arm laid across the back of the couch, the picture of relaxed indifference. "No, what have you _always_ wanted for Christmas?"

_My family_ , he thinks, but he has that, rag-tag group of superheroes as they are. Everything else is trivial, though he knows Tony probably already has like five gifts for him, at least one of which will be worth more than Peter himself. He has to physically bite his tongue to keep from telling him he doesn't have to get him anything, because he knows the word "billionaire" will be tossed at him as if it is the answer to all of his woes. There is no choice but to accept that he may get a little spoiled this Christmas, and he is trying his hardest not to feel undeserving.

"No, actually, what have you wanted since you were a kid? A puppy? A pony? I could probably genetically engineer a horse to have a horn if that's what you want," Tony goes on. "Anything. Name it and it's yours."

This time he bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn't have to think about it, but he knows it's impossible, and was kind of silly even back when his parents were alive. He hasn't thought about it in years but it is the first and only thing to come to mind.

Peter opens his mouth to reply, but his mentor cuts him off, "Don't give me all that crap about not needing to get you stuff. I'm not about to let Barton out-gift me on your first Christmas. Help me out, here."

Oh, no, of course not. Leave it to Tony Stark to let competition overtake him at Christmastime.

"It's impossible," he says with a shake of his head, knowing that 'nothing' or no answer at all will not be accepted.

"Look who you're talking to, kid. Don't insult me."

The man looks wholly hurt by the implication that he cannot accomplish anything, and you know what? Maybe it's time to knock Mr. Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist down a peg.

"Well, there is one thing," he says, placing a bauble on the tree and then another before continuing, playing innocent, "but I don't think even you could do it by Christmas, and it's dumb, don't worry about it."

"What is it?"

Peter glances over his shoulder, sees the man lift his coffee mug to his lips, and forces down a smile. "A little brother or sister."

Tony chokes.

Like, actually chokes, and Peter's a little worried until Rhodey starts patting his back and Tony waves him off and takes a breath. Both Sam and Clint are in tears laughing, and he doesn't feel a lick of guilt for the way his 'dad' doesn't meet his gaze and leaves the room with a raspy excuse of getting water. Plucking another ornament from the box with a sense of accomplishment, Peter listens to the laughter die down behind him.

"FRIDAY, tell me you got that on video."

"I did, Mr. Barton."

Clint comes up behind him and grabs his shoulders, shaking him a bit. "Damn, Petey. You just gave me the best Christmas present ever. Thanks, I can't wait to show every single person I know."

 

* * *

 

Tony watches Pepper pull her hair out of its ponytail and disappear into their bathroom from his spot on the foot of their bed. She gives him a look over her shoulder that is as amused as it is exasperated, her voice carrying out to him, "You know Clint is just trying to get a rise out of you, right?"

"Don't care. I can't let him out-do me."

Peter is _his_ to spoil, and it's a damn full-time job because that kid is stubborn as all hell and won't take anything from him that he feels he doesn't deserve. Which - first of all, bullshit, he deserves everything, and second of all, bullshit, Tony doesn't just give useless gifts out willy-nilly. Peter needed a new laptop, so he ~~made~~ got him a new one so he didn't have to constantly worry about losing schoolwork, and it took him _two weeks_ and confiscating the dumpster computer to get the kid to begrudgingly accept Tony's generosity. Two weeks! For a computer! He can't even buy the kid a freaking snack without hearing a stammered assurance that it isn't necessary. Christmas might be his only chance and if Clinton Francis Barton thinks he's going to one-up Tony Stark, he's got another thing coming.

"Do you even know what he got Peter for Christmas?" Pepper asks, reemerging from the bathroom in pajamas and brushing her teeth.

Tony scowls. "No, and I'm not about to go snooping, either. Man's a spy, probably has it booby-trapped, and I'm looking to keep my dignity this holiday season."

The raised eyebrow of skepticism that gets him in response almost lifts his mood, but he's serious. This is serious. "I mean it, Pep. This is his first real Christmas with us," he tells her in earnest, slumping forward to rest his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists.

Pepper nods her understanding, eyes soft as she slips back into the bathroom. "You know he'll love everything you've already gotten him."

"But it won't be the best. It won't be the present to beat all other presents." Hell, he'd reined it in, gotten Peter a bunch of smaller things that would be easier to accept because if he has to face the kid's humility on Christmas, he might scream.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

She's gives him her patented 'you're an idiot' look as she makes her way over to him, and Tony is happy to oblige her entrance into his personal space, wrapping his arms around her waist while she runs her fingers soothingly through his hair. "Well, you can't get him a sibling, so you're just going to have to think of something else."

Tilting his head back, he waits patiently for her to meet his gaze before lifting a speculative eyebrow. There is absolutely no reason he _couldn't_ get Peter what he wants. It's a matter of will, and Tony's is the strongest.

It takes a full thirty seconds for Pepper to realize what he is implying, and then her hands drop to his shoulders and push him back. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"Tony!" she exclaims, voice thick with incredulity. If he hadn't heard the exact same thing, in the same tone, with the same facial expression at least once a month for the past, oh, ten years, it might have a larger effect on him. Pepper steps back, and he feels the loss of her physical presence in the tightness of his chest, and stomps the emotion down. "You're insane!"

"For wanting my kid to be happy?" He gives a small pout in the hopes of swaying her (god knows his charm doesn't work anymore), but she just huffs.

"Pleasing others is no reason to have a baby, Tony," Pepper says and he can hear the beginnings of a lecture that, surprisingly, he doesn't think he has had the good fortune of hearing yet. He has never held an interest in pleasing others before because he has never - and even after all this time he still cannot believe he is saying this about a plucky teenager with a martyr complex - _cared_ about someone else enough to go this far out of his way to see them happy.

"There are worse reasons."

"We're not even married yet."

"So?"

She levels him with a challenging glower. "We've never talked about having children."

Unable to stand the distance anymore, Tony leans forward and captures her hands, drawing her back into him. Reluctantly, she acquiesces. "So let's talk about it now."

"Tony," she sighs, and he has to force down a smile because his name sounds an awful lot like a concession. "When I met you, you could hardly bare to be near children long enough to take a picture with them. You cannot tell me a year with a teenager has turned you onto the idea of having a _baby."_

Honestly, he wishes he could look his fiancée in the eye and say no and believe it. But he can't. He isn't _Tony Stark, playboy_ anymore, and somehow, despite all the shit he's been through, his life is good now. Things have stabilized; the Accords have been overhauled and the Avengers have reunited and he's got the love of a beautiful woman that he doesn't deserve and a kid he never expected but would never give up, and he's finally at a point in his life where 'family' isn't such an f-word.

"You can't tell me Peter wouldn't be a fabulous big brother." He runs the pads of his thumbs over her knuckles, grounding himself in the way they bump over her smooth skin.

The way her lips turn up at the thought tells him all he needs to know. "That's not the point," she says, gentler now as she squeezes his hands to acknowledge both his words and his actions. "We can't just jump into something like this."

"I know." And he does. "So we'll talk."

"We'll talk. But don't expect anything this Christmas. Or next Christmas, either."

He grins. "Deal."

 

* * *

 

Breakfast today is an unusually demure affair, and Peter can't help but notice the Tony-size hole in his morning routine. He's always there, drinking coffee, making sure Peter eats before they lose track of time in the lab until dinner, cracking jokes, giving Sam dirty looks across the table.

Today, he makes small talk with Rhodey over cereal, and if the Colonel notices the longing glances he sends towards Tony's chair, he's kind enough not to say anything.

He waits until they're all finished eating and Steve has left the table to help Sam with the dishes to ask. "Where's Mr. Stark?"

Over the newspaper, Rhodey's eyes meet his briefly. "Probably in his lab."

"Already?" Tony usually waits for him, but maybe he'd had something really important to take care of and Peter should be down there to help.

"Still."

"Huh?"

The newspaper drops and so does Peter's stomach. He doesn't like the solemn expression on the elder man's face, his lips downturned and eyes crinkled slightly in sympathy. It's one he's seen in exaggerated forms too many times before. It wreaks of death. "He went down after you went to bed last night. I doubt he's left since then, or will leave anytime in the near future. And we should all give him some space."

Worry immediately wraps around his chest and tightens like a thorny vine until he can barely breathe and every effort to do so digs barbs further into his lungs. Tony has locked himself in his lab all night and nothing good ever comes with that look. "Is he alright?" he asks, and he doesn't even care that his voice wobbles precariously.

"He will be," Rhodey assures with a sage nod, as if speaking from experience. Given their history, Peter is sure that he is, but this is unfamiliar territory for him, and he can't lose anyone else.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Today is the anniversary of his parents' deaths."

The vine loosens.

Oh. _Oh._ That makes perfect sense - and it's horrible. He knows. He knows he gets that way in April, too, just wants to hide away from the world that took his parents from him before he could really know them and scream at Fate or Karma or whatever controls their lives that it isn't fair. Peter understands, because he's been there, and he will continue to be there every year for the rest of his life, but he also knows that hiding is not coping. Aunt May - and Uncle Ben, when he was alive - made sure he knew that, and made sure that one of them was around for him on that day, and over time it got much easier because he knew he was not alone.

With a fiery determination, Peter marches down to the lab and is met with a locked door. "FRIDAY, let me in," he growls, keeping from using his superior strength to force his way inside.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I am under orders to allow no one in except in the case of an emergency," the AI replies, and even she sounds somber.

Peter's jaw clenches, but he inhales slowly and refocuses without a handful of repressed emotions blurring his reason. "I'm trying to help him, FRI. Even you should know this isn't healthy."

"I'm sorry, Peter-"

"I know you're programmed to take care of him," he interrupts, staring at his reflection in the metal door. At some point between excusing himself from the breakfast table and arriving here, he must have run his hands through his hair, because it is bordering on a disheveled bedhead style again. He cannot bring himself to look lower. "So am I. Please, let me in. I know I'm usually the exception to his rules."

There's a silence afterward that lasts so long he is about to turn around and stomp back to the kitchen in defeat before the lock clicks and his breath hitches. Whispering his thanks to the AI, Peter wastes no time pushing the door open.

He isn't sure what he expects to see - maybe all their half-finished projects strewn about the floor in a fit of rage, or old videos pulled up on the holo-table - but it certainly isn't his mentor sitting at one of the benches, shoulders hunched, staring off into space. Tony barely even registers his entrance.

Peter approaches slowly and, given no indication not to, takes a seat beside him. There's a heavy silence while he searches for the right thing to say.

"FRIDAY is a traitor," Tony says before the teen can find appropriate words, although it seems to be more for the room than for him.

"Nah," Peter counters quietly and with a small smile, latching onto the opening, "she just likes me better."

"Like I said, traitor." And it's light. It's easy and joking and if there was rock music blasting through the speakers and a grin on the man's face, it would have been normal. But it isn't. Tony's eyes are distant and pained and Peter doesn't know all the details about Siberia, but he knows enough.

"Tell me about them," he commands gently, watching his mentor's features tighten minutely, the wrinkles around his eyes shifting and deepening, making him look older and more world-weary. "Tell me about your parents."

Gaze falling to the table, Tony shakes his head. "I-"

But Peter won't let him. He can't. "I know some of the decorations we pulled out the other day were your mom's. Did she like Christmas?"

Finally, Tony turns his head to give him the stink-eye that says he knows exactly what the kid is doing and does not like it, but he also doesn't tell him no. "She enjoyed winter more than the holiday, I think. It's very mild in California, rarely snows, so she'd… bring that kind of winter wonderland feeling into the house." He reaches out, flicking the springy arm on the snowman figurine Peter had brought down to the lab to liven it up. It must have been one of Maria Stark's.

The ceramic mitten on the end of the spring bobs, and Peter waits until it comes to a stop to tell him, "My mom loved Christmas. I think. I don't remember much, really, just more lights than was probably safe and the smell of gingerbread cookies. I can't remember her voice anymore, but I still remember more twinkling lights than stars in the sky and mutilating gingerbread men for sport." The laugh that escapes him then, soft and short but genuine, comes as a surprise to both of them. Scooting his stool closer, he lays his head on Tony's shoulder knowing the man won't be the one to do it, so Peter will gladly take on the role of the vulnerable one in need of comfort. "What did it look like? Your house, in the wintertime?"

And he listens to Tony Stark paint a picture more beautiful than he can imagine, with candles and frosted glass and a crackling fireplace and snowmen everywhere despite the fact that there was nothing except cold dirt outside. He tells the tale of minced meat pies and cyder and helping the real Jarvis make cookies in the kitchen once, because Howard wasn't around to tell them no. "It did snow a few times growing up," he says, and his voice is impossibly smooth, "just a couple of inches that wouldn't last more than a day, but it was always the happiest my mother ever looked."

"Tony?" Peter lifts his head to meet the man's eyes. "I think your mom would be really proud of you."

A beat follows the admission before Tony smiles, pulling the teen in for a hug. "I think yours would be pretty proud of you, too, kid."

 

* * *

 

Christmas with the Avengers is a mad house.

Peter had dragged May out before the sun rose, wanting to get to the Compound early, and catching Tony Stark in reindeer pajamas was totally worth it.

By eleven a.m. everyone has arrived and if the sheer number of bodies isn't overwhelming enough, the voices on top of the Christmas music are. The open concept living-dining-kitchen is abuzz, and Peter is pretty sure he's not vibrating from a sugar-high alone. His ears are ringing, but there is too much excitement for it to dial up to a painful, disorienting level.

Clint drops little Nate to sit on the floor beside Peter with the other kids in front of the massive Christmas tree, towering over an even more absurdly massive amount of gifts. Peter isn't sure he's ever seen so many when all of his Christmases have been with, at most, five people, but when 15+ people are giving gifts to 15+ other people… well, it takes over half an hour just to pass them around, and even longer to open them all.

By the time he's done, there's a permanent smile plastered stupidly on his face, a sea of paper around him, and he's not sure there's enough space in his room in Queens or his one here to fit everything he's gotten. It's surreal. He hadn't even gotten particularly spoiled, mostly just one gift from each person or couple. Tony, as expected, ranked number one on the spoil-ometer, with six gifts all worth less than New York City itself (and actually, none of them are even that expensive to Peter's tastes, but small and thoughtful and definitely don't bring tears to his eyes twice). May squeezed into second with four - two of which he got yesterday, and two she'd waited until today to give him. Rounding out third was Rhodey, with three, and none of them beat the fact that they're all labeled "From: Uncle Rhodey."

Beside him, Nate is having more fun ripping up paper than playing with his new toys, and the room at large breaks into laughter after,

" _Being a Superhero for Dummies_. Gee, thanks Sam."

"Anytime, Tic-tac."

Peter flips open his last envelope, pulling out a typical Christmas card with a glossy tree on the front and the words 'Merry Christmas' in swooping red letters on the inside. Below that, however, is Happy's unexpectedly neat handwriting,

_Turn around, kid._

With perhaps a bit too much of his spider reflexes and unbridled hope, Peter spins around and is met with black slack-clad knees. His eyes rise up to meet Happy's and then the man lifts his arms with a small smile and Peter thinks he might actually be happy enough to explode.

"Bring it in, kid."

"Really?"

"Not if you take too long."

Peter pops up to his feet and throws himself into the waiting arms. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! I've been waiting for this for so long."

Happy awkwardly pats his back and he was _right,_ he is like a big teddy bear. Another minute in that embrace and he might just melt and take a nap, but then Happy is stepping back and there's a familiar hand on his shoulder and his cheeks hurt from how wide his grin is. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he turns to Tony and says, "Happy hugged me! Willingly!"

"I know, kid."

"I have been blessed."

"Just don't say his hugs are better than mine. You'll break your old man's heart." Tony sniffs, aiming for unaffected and making Peter laugh, especially when he notices what he's wearing.

Peter had stumbled across the sweatshirt months ago and knew it was perfect, because it is red and has a pretty decent design of the Iron Man armor printed on the front and back, complete with arc reactor and hand repulsors on the long sleeves. It's a gag gift, but no one bats at eye at Iron Man wearing his own merch. Peter leans into him for a hug. "Of course not. You give the best hugs."

 

* * *

 

Chaos.

Tony almost regrets organizing such a big affair, even on his third glass of secretly spiked eggnog. The Avengers can be a rowdy bunch on a normal day, but sprinkle in a holiday and some children, and Tony is cowering in the kitchen before he gets trampled.

"That's quiet the family you've got."

His head turns towards the voice and he smiles at Rhodey's mother, pulling her into his side. "Hey, Mama Rhodes. Can I get you something?"

"No, no," says the shorter woman, wrapping an arm around his back to accept the gesture for what it is, "I just came to check on you. James says you've been busy. Hope you're taking care of yourself."

Against his will, his heart swells. Althea Rhodes did not come into his life until he was seventeen, but she is as much family as Rhodey is, and one of the few people in his younger years that kept his head on straight-ish. "I am," he promises, and then he catches sight of Barton climbing up onto his couch to do a trick shot on Wii archery and throws back the rest of his eggnog.

Althea hums like she doesn't believe him, but excuses herself to find her son as Pepper comes over to give him a disapproving look. "What was that about your dignity?"

A snarky reply on the tip of his tongue, Tony opens his mouth, but gets cut off by shrieking. Peter's got Lila on his shoulders and Nate under one arm like a sack of potatoes and seems to be working with Shuri to catch Cooper and Cassie as they dart around furniture and adults. Every one of them is laughing. He swears it adds years to his life.

"That kid was meant to be a brother," he says, watching Peter drop Nate safely on the couch and fall dramatically to his knees.

"One step at a time, Tony."

He doesn't remind her that he has never been good at following directions and instead tugs her into him, finding comfort in her lavender perfume. The dress she is wearing is fuzzy and soft and his fingers trace the dip of her waist of their own volition as she leans into him, obviously indulging him this moment of respite from the stress fest in his common room.

Her hand smooths up his torso to rest over his heart and he cannot help but smile down at her until she says, "I like this Iron Man look best."

"That's because it's ridiculous," he mutters.

"Then why are you wearing it?"

Gaze lifting from Pepper's knowing look, he finds Peter in the crowd sticking an elf hat on Shuri's head against her protests. "You know why."

She hums her agreement, but does not say anything more. Not a second later a loud pop resounds through the room, bouncing off the walls and making a few of the dishes on the counter rattle. The sound jumps his heart into his throat on instinct, and Tony watches in horror as his living room begins to sparkle, rainbow tinsel raining from the ceiling.

Everyone has stopped what they are doing, the Christmas music filling the resulting silence until Natasha's growl carries over the notes of Jingle Bell Rock.

"You'd better run, Wilson."

Tony doesn't recover as quickly as he'd like - as quickly as everyone else, after the assassin chases Sam out of the room - but in all fairness, _what the fuck_. That whole half of the room is _buried_ in tinsel, and he cannot stop staring at the mess. Oh god, the mess. He's going to be pulling tinsel out of the couch cushions for _months._

For a moment, he considers joining Natasha's manhunt.

But then a vaguely Peter-shaped tinsel monster emerges from the rainbow sea to approach them. "What do you think?" he asks. "Too flashy?"

Pepper slips out of his slack grasp and shrugs. "Tony's worn worse."

"Hey!"

Peter laughs, and the movement causes the metallic strings to glitter in the kitchen lighting.

"You look like Cousin It's lesser known, gay brother," Tony says, trying not to laugh at the way it hangs off the boy. He isn't entirely sure Peter can see through it, although he does try to sweep some of it out of his eyes, and it hangs off of him like moss on a tree. "Now hold still, I need a dozen pictures for blackmail purposes."

It must say a lot about their relationship when Peter doesn't protest, but rather strikes a pose. Jutting out a hip, Peter places one hand on his head and the other on his hip and although Tony can't see it beneath the tinsel, he knows that he is smiling. The pose itself is ridiculous and adorable and it makes Pepper release this inelegant snort-laugh that he has never heard before, but makes his heart flutter. He decides right then and there, snapping multiple pictures of the kid, that it is easily the best sound he has every heard.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me what Clint got Peter. I don't know. It definitely wasn't anything that would out-do Tony, though; Clint was just messing with him for shits and giggles.
> 
> If you hang tight, this is the first part in a series of fluffy family fics, and that Iron Man sweatshirt will make a reappearance. Part two is almost done, but the end has been kicking my butt, so who knows when that'll be out. I'll probably add to the t-shirt series first.
> 
> Merry crisis!


End file.
